


Love’s Labour Found

by farfarawaygirl



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, brettsey, build me a home, fill it with love, make her happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: Time Stamp: directly following 9x03After they eat messy deep dish in the living room, Matt has a stunning moment of clarity. It’s dark outside, the orange golden glow of a street light coming in through the large window. It’s caught up and broken by the lace of the curtain, then falls on Sylvie, lighting up her hair, her cheeks, her collar bones. It has given her an unearthly glow, angelic almost.He loves her.Loves her in a way that he has never loved an other person. He loves her unreservedly, and with the knowledge that with her his heart is safe, knows that damage would only come from it being a love unfulfilled; it’s silly really, he’s know it for a while.He could have lost her, that day when the Ambo went over the guard rail. That knowledge makes his hands itch to reach for her, makes him want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her safe. But, the world is better with her in it. With her capable hands, her optimism, her love, her smile.She wanted space, and the universe intervened. Matt’s not going to let this chance slip away.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140





	Love’s Labour Found

**Author's Note:**

> No Sydney, no Grainger. 
> 
> Title inspired by Shakespeare, but obviously altered. 
> 
> I’m a disaster at editing, but, here we are. 
> 
> Build her a home, fill it with love.

Sylvie’s running a little late. She hates running late, it’s rude, and thoughtless for the other persons time, and it always makes her feel a little sick in the stomach. The whole day has been like this, just a little beyond her control. It’s started when her car made a funny noise this morning as she was driving to spin class. And then Olivia had a few questions for her about Sylvie teaching a spin class. 

Now it is almost twenty five past three, and she can’t find parking. Finally a spot appears, Sylvie signals and slides in. Three minutes to spare. The sidewalk is a little icy as Sylvie picks her way to the building door, she makes sure her mask is on and enters. Grey signage tells her she wants the third floor, so much for not being late. 

To say she was surprised that a lawyer called her yesterday and requested her presence would be an understatement. Maybe it’s just par for the course with the way 2020, and now 2021 is going. They wouldn’t share much info over the phone, so Sylvie had agreed to go in. Double checking that she has her small wallet in her jacket pocket Sylvie takes the stairs. 

Bingham and Associates has a frosted glass door, in smaller script beneath the name it reads: Specializing in Estate and Generational Wealth Planning. Momentarily Sylvie thinks of the missing part of her family. Has her dad found her? Can she go through this again? Before she can give it much thought the receptionist is calling her name. 

“Ms. Brett?”

Sylvie nods, stepping closer to the large Recpetion desk. 

The redhead smiles, or Sylvie thinks it is a smile, she is wearing a black mask, but her eyes are warm and crinkled. “The rest of the party is already here, please follow me.”

Following her down the hallway, Sylvie tries not to freak out. The rest of the party? Who can it be? She feels sick with anticipation, digging her hands into her pockets in an attempt to calm down. The redhead gestures to an open door, Sylvie enters, behind a dark wood desk is a masked man with wavy dark blonde hair and green-blue eyes. Once she steps in she also see that there is someone sitting in one of the two green leather chairs facing the desk. 

She’d know that jacket and hair anywhere. It’s Matt. 

“Ah, Ms. Brett, you know Mr. Casey?”

Sylvie nods, blinking at Matt over her mask. 

“Sylvie.”

He says her name evenly, like they didn’t have a conversation just twenty four hours ago that ended with Sylvie walking out his quarters, certain that their friendship was dead. Like seeing him at Molly’s last night didn’t crush her heart. It serves as further confirmation that she misread this whole situation; an unwanted victory. 

When she says his name, “Casey?” It ends on a question, and she freezes for a moment. Why, exactly, is Matt here? 

Because he is a gentleman, and lets be honest, the man of her dreams, Matt gets to his feet and slides the empty green leather chair back, gesturing to her to sit. Confused, uncomfortable and awkwardly Sylvie perches in the edge of the seat. The wavy haired blonde explains who he is, and why they are there. Every sentence rains down on Sylvie like a physical blow. 

Mr Larson has passed away. 

He’s left Dusty to them. 

The lawyer, named Mark talks a bit about how Mr Larson left some money for a good charitable program that helps underprivileged kids go to college. 

Sylvie can’t believe that Mr Larson is dead. He was so kind. She’s crying just a little when Matt leans over and rubs her back. She wants to relax into him, really just wants to turn her face into him and let all the frustration and sadness out. 

“And then the house.” Sylvie is having a hard time paying attention, distracted by Matt’s hand until Mark says that. “He left you two the house and all it’s contents.”

“What?” Matt sounds vaguely puzzled. 

Mark places a set of keys on the desk, he’s pulling out a large brown envelope, but Sylvie is still stuck on that last bit. 

“He left who the house?”

“You and your partner?” Mark trails off, looking at them. 

“Oh. Right. Me and Matt.” Sylvie feels Matt’s fingers tense and release against her back. 

It’s thirty more minutes of information and talking. Mark explains estate tax and where Dusty is currently staying. Sylvie struggles to focus, her thoughts slipping continually to the hand on her back. They sign some paperwork, and Sylvie feels a weird frisson of, well, something, when she sees her name neatly typed next to Matt’s on the deed. It is like some weird alternative universe come to life. 

She finds herself standing in the cold Chicago twilight of mid January, a set of keys in one hand and a stack of papers in the other, Matt Casey standing in front of her. He looks as befuddled as she feels. Even though it was her who asked for space, Sylvie feels the weird need to touch his elbow. 

“So,” Matt starts, “we own a house.”

Sylvie laughs. Genuinely laughs. “And a cat!”

Matt snorts, “we have a full week to figure out a plan for him, then his cat condo vacation expires.”

Everything about this feels like a monumental joke. The cat. The house. Her and Matt. She asked for space, instead she is now legally tied to him. It’s all very Hallmark-y, not that she minds, real estate in Chicago is nothing to joke at. 

“We own a house.”

Matt nods at her. 

Sylvie is suddenly picturing a vague future, her and Matt sharing breakfast, a tow headed baby on her hip and he pours travel mugs of coffee. But, that’s not going to happen, Sylvie reminds herself, shaking her head a little. “What do we do now?”

“We go look at it?”

Right. That’s logical. Sylvie nods at Matt, still feeling a little lost. That must explain why when he offers to drive her, she accepts. During the ride he only asks her once if she’s okay, which Sylvie counts as a win. She can’t exactly avoid him now that she owns a home with him. Maybe the only way their friendship will survive is if they don’t take space, just kind of push through the awkwardness. 

“How are you?” Internally Sylvie is kicking herself for asking, Matt looks at her, then the road, eyes quick and unreadable. 

Clearing his throat, Matt speaks, “I’m fine.” Sylvie watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs, knows he is nervous. 

“Not exactly the day either one of us was planning.”

“Not the week either.” Sylvie looks up Matt trying to understand what he means. But she doesn’t really have anything to say, so she just nods, turns back to the road. 

The house looks the same as she remembers. She’s come back a total of ten times since the funeral, dropping of groceries, having socially distanced coffee on the steps, once she dropped off a plate of muffins. It doesn’t seem like enough. Definitely nothing to warrant him leaving her a house. 

“When I was here last, he was still putting off repairs.” Matt takes the front steps two at a time. 

“You visited? Mr Larson never mentioned...”

Matt flashes her a grin, “he shared one of your muffins with me.”

“Oh.”

Matt’s putting his key in the door, pausing when he pops it open, one hand on the frame. It feels like this would be the place to say something, to mark this occasion. Suddenly Sylvie has a mental image of Matt carrying her bridal style over the frame, by the sideways glance he’s sending her, she thinks it’s not to far off from what he’s thinking of. 

“This is kind of morbid, right?” Her question makes Matt laugh, and just like that it’s them again. Friends. 

“After you, Sylvie.”

He closes the door behind him, Sylvie hears him swing the keys around his fingers as she steps deeper into the house. It’s how she remembers it, Covid happened weeks after the fire, so the state of things is pretty much how she remembers it. It no longer smells like smoke though, she remembers buying him a few charcoal scrubbers back in April. 

Of course Matt is standing in front of the exposed part of the wall, he’s staring at the work with a critical eye. Assessing. Vaguely Sylvie recalls Matt offering to do the work, but Mr Larson saying his insurance had supplied a list of names. 

“Good bones.” He says at last, still facing away from her. 

Sylvie nods, tentatively walking towards the stairs. She leaves Matt behind her when she climbs upstairs, unsure what’s she’s looking for, the unmade bed doesn’t supply any answers. Downstairs Sylvie can hear Matt on the phone, he mentions her name, and she stills. 

“...Sylvie, yeah.” Sylvie hears him walking, his boots loud on the uncarpeted floor, “I don’t know how to explain, can you guys bring food here? Yeah, for four. I’ll text you the address.”

Moments later he calls up the stairs to her, “hey, it’s almost 5:30, Severide and Kidd are going to bring dinner by if that’s okay.”

Sylvie goes down the stairs, Matt leaning against the wall, she sits on the second to last step. So much for space. 

“There’s so much stuff.” Matt blows out air at her statement, nodding. “Some of it like, weirdly personal.” He tilts his head at her statement. Sylvie stretched out her legs, “her wedding dress is in a closet upstairs. You can’t just throw that out.”

“Wanna check out the basement?”

Sylvie follows Matt down the stairs, fumbling on the last step until he flips on a light. They share a glance. There is a lifetime of things down here. Bookshelves line two walls, packed with old westerns and textbooks, Sylvie pulls out an old copy of a Nancy Drew book. In the next room there is a pile of tools on a work bench, it smells like sawdust. Gingerly, Matt touches the outline of a bear in a block of wood. 

“They lead full lives?” Sylvie asks, her fingers trailing over a card table with paint supplies on it. “Even without kids.”

When she turns to look at Matt, his blue eyes are sharp on her. “Don’t you want kids?”

“Yes.” It feels oddly personal. “I want kids.”

“I’ve wanted kids for like ten years. It’s why Hallie and I broke up.” Matt looks away, “it played a large part in why Gabby and I...” he stops, clears his throat. “Yeah. I really want kids.”

They both start when the door bell goes off, Sylvie follows him up the stairs, turning off the lights behind them. 

-

After they eat messy deep dish in the living room, Matt has a stunning moment of clarity. It’s dark outside, the orange golden glow of a street light coming in through the large window. It’s caught up and broken by the lace of the curtain, then falls on Sylvie, lighting up her hair, her cheeks, her collar bones. It has given her an unearthly glow, angelic almost. 

He loves her. 

Loves her in a way that he has never loved an other person. He loves her unreservedly, and with the knowledge that with her his heart is safe, knows that damage would only come from it being a love unfulfilled; it’s silly really, he’s know it for a while. 

He could have lost her, that day when the Ambo went over the guard rail. That knowledge makes his hands itch to reach for her, makes him want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her safe. But, the world is better with her in it. With her capable hands, her optimism, her love, her smile. 

She wanted space, and the universe intervened. Matt’s not going to let this chance slip away.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, for real, send me asks, comments, anything. How are we holding up?


End file.
